


Tough

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Master/Pet, Roughness, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 13:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21392608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Tom tries to indulge B’Elanna’s other half.
Relationships: Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres
Kudos: 15





	Tough

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The harness was synthesized to his measurements: it fits snugly around his middle, two straps cutting across his breast, one tucked just under his armpits and the other beneath his ribcage, a thinner thread connecting them down the middle. It’s a dark crimson colour and feels like real leather. There’s a metal hoop square in the center of his shoulder blades, presumably where someone would attach a leash to. Tom sucks in a breath and tells himself it’s not all that different than wearing a collar. It’s just a different form of pet play. It’s not like Tom’s vanilla. He doesn’t mind indulging in a partner’s kinks, even if it’s a weird one. He doesn’t think the harness looks particularly good on him, but that’s not for him to decide. 

He steps away from the mirror in the small confines of his washroom. The smooth tile is cold beneath his feet, but he’s set the computer for a higher temperature since he’s mostly naked. He’s kept his boxers on. Targs don’t wear boxers, but he figures he can remove them when B’Elanna shows up.

He wanders out into his bedroom, padding towards the bed, and is suddenly knocked right off his feet. Tom hits the ground, the wind crushed out of him, mouth open and gasping as he reaches for his bruised ribcage. He tries to roll over, brain reeling through fight-or-flight survival instincts and his combat training, but then strong hands are curling around his shoulders, shoving him back down. Tom tries to squirm away, only for a heavy weight to land on the small of his back and pin him down. He looks over his shoulder, startled to see his girlfriend. He tries to ask, “What’re—” but B’Elanna’s suddenly wrenching him around. Tom hits his back, and B’Elanna’s slithering low enough down his thighs to reach his boxers. She curls her fingers into them like claws, ripping the material to shreds. She tears those shreds right off his body. It all happens so fast that he barely has time to blink. He tries to sit up, but she shoves him back down hard enough to make him see stars. She’s bending over him, her mouth open wide, and then her teeth are digging so hard into his neck that he can feel blood bubbling up to the surface of the wound. Before his vision even clears up and she has a chance to strike again, he splutters, “What the _fuck_, B’Elanna!”

She abruptly pulls back. She looks down at him, still fully done up in her uniform, his naked cock wedged up against her thigh. It’s not entirely flaccid, but he doesn’t blame himself for that—she’s still an extremely attractive woman, even when she’s acting like a maniac. He’d probably be having a better time if her lips weren’t painted red with his own blood. She asks, “What?” like it’s normal. He just _stares_ at her, not even knowing where to start. He shouldn’t have to explain. She says, “I thought you agreed to targ play.”

“Yeah, but... I thought they were pets.” He was sure that’s what she’d said. That’s why he agreed to it. He figured he knew what to expect.

She answers simply, “They are.”

“And you _attack_ your pets?”

B’Elanna doesn’t seem to appreciate the incredulity of his tone. She glares down at him like _he’s_ the one being obtuse. “We wrestle with them, yes.”

Tom lifts a hand to touch the place where she broke skin. He presses down to stop the bleeding and winces up at her. It’s not like he minds getting a little rough, but he does appreciate a little warning. That seems to melt some of B’Elanna’s hardened exterior, because she asks, “Was it too much?” Before he can even answer, she shakes her head and looks away, swearing, “Shit. We should’ve just stuck with puppy play. Everything gets fucked up every time I try to accept even a _tiny_ part of Klingon culture. I don’t know why I even tried—”

“No,” he interjects, because when he thinks about it, that _was_ progress for her. He _does_ want her to be immersed in both halves of her heritage, even if one side is significantly scarier than the other. “It’s fine. We can just... just don’t break skin?” B’Elanna frowns. Tom thinks to add, “And maybe don’t be so rough down there.” He nods down his body. She snorts.

Then she smiles. Her brows knit together in a softer expression than most people ever get to experience from the fearsome B’Elanna Torres. Tom does feel honoured to have any intimacy with her at all, even when it’s crazy. She mumbles, “Okay.”

He says, “Good.” 

Then he takes advantage of the moment to buck up and throw her off. She laughs delightedly as he tries to pin her down, wrestling his girlfriend just as roughly as any domesticated Klingon animal.


End file.
